“Of course,” Maggie said. Her thoughts were racing.
“Here’s my card,” said Goebbels, ignoring the disapproving stare of his wife. “Come on Monday, eight A.M. sharp. The Reich Chancellery.”
Maggie smiled. “Danke schön, Dr. Goebbels.” She slipped the card into her handbag. “I’ll be there.”
Elise and her father sat together on a bench on the perimeter of the room, away from the guests. “I missed you, Papa,” Elise said as they shared a slice of cake decorated with fondant roses and silver dragées.
“And I missed you, too, Engelchen.”
“How long will you be home this time?”
“Not long. We’re rehearsing for a new production of Lohengrin. We’ll be performing it here, then taking it to Zürich next week, leaving on Sunday.” He kissed her forehead. “Want to get away with your old papa?”
Elise loved traveling with her father and the opera company. But now she had work. Not to mention her houseguest upstairs. Then she had an inspiration. “A trip to Zürich sounds perfect, Papa.” She smiled. “Absolutely perfect.”
Gottlieb and Maggie were conferring in a corner. The party had gone on long into the night. They’d taken cautious sips from their champagne, careful not to drink too much, smiling broadly and fatuously at each other as they did so. “I’ll do it,” he said.
“No, I’ll do it!”
“You’re not up for it.”
“I am! And I’ll be less conspicuous than you.”
“I can’t wait to get you on that plane and away from here!” Gottlieb whispered, furious.
“Believe me, I can’t wait to leave this hell, either.”
Maggie headed back to Clara’s study, and this time—using a hairpin to pick the door’s lock—she planted the bug without incident behind the gold-framed portrait of Hitler. There you have it, Gottlieb, Maggie thought triumphantly as she slipped out of the room.
After another glass of champagne, they threaded their way through the room to thank their hosts. Now that the bug had been planted, Maggie wanted desperately to go. The last thing she wanted to do was have another interaction with Clara.
“Ah, leaving so soon, Herr Lehrer?”
“I’m afraid so. As you saw, Frau Hess, Fräulein Hoffman is not feeling well.”
Clara appraised Maggie’s face. “Well, you look much better now,” she said. Her eyes didn’t waver, and Maggie felt them burning into hers. She realized that, although beautiful, one of Clara’s eyes wandered slightly.
Clara smiled, a cold smile. “Good night, then.”
Maggie sought out Elise, on the periphery of the party, an onlooker as the others danced. “Thank you again—for all your help.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Elise responded cheerfully. “I’m a nurse. It’s what I do. And I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
“Well, I appreciate the care.”
“Of course.” The girls stared at each other. Maggie braced herself. She was certain that Elise would notice their resemblance.
And maybe she did, at least on a subconscious level, for she grasped Maggie’s hand. “I know you’re new to Berlin, so if you ever need anything—and I mean anything—just let me know.”
She took a pen and piece of paper from the drawer of an ornate end table and scribbled down some numbers. “This is how to reach me, here at home and also at the hospital.”
“Thank you.” Maggie accepted the slip of paper, surprisingly touched. “Thank you so much, Fräulein Hess.”
Elise embraced her and whispered in her ear, “You’re not one of them, I can tell, Fräulein Hoffman.”
“No, I’m not,” Maggie whispered back.
“Good for you. Neither am I.”
The two new friends kissed goodbye.
On the ride back to Charlottenburg, Maggie and Gottlieb remained silent, but once they entered his apartment and closed and locked the door behind them, Maggie spoke. “The microphone was planted successfully.”
“Congratulations,” Gottlieb said scathingly. “Although you might have warned me about your plan to faint like a Victorian maiden.”
Maggie realized that was the closest she was going to get to an apology, so she took it and moved on. “And I wasn’t idle the rest of the night, either. I’m in! Or, at least, I have a typing test.”
“In? In where?” Gottlieb, his eyes shadowed from exhaustion, was slumped on the sofa.
Maggie sat next to him and kicked off her evening sandals. “Ouch,” she said. “High heels are brutal.” She pointed and flexed her blistered feet.